


your love is such a swamp (you don't think before you jump)

by wakeupyoursaints (untiltheliebecomesyourlife)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut, the mavin is only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untiltheliebecomesyourlife/pseuds/wakeupyoursaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin’s an enigma, and trying to figure him out is a corrosive task, one that started a slow burn in Ryan long ago. But Ryan’s doing nothing to stop it, because maybe he doesn’t mind being burned alive if it means Gavin laughs in his direction once more, arches a brow in a silent promise of what was to come later.</p>
<p>(aka an entirely different take on Freewood in which Ryan's the one pining and Gavin's kind of an ass)</p>
            </blockquote>





	your love is such a swamp (you don't think before you jump)

**Author's Note:**

> this story is basically borne of my frustration with how the majority of the fandom writes Freewood like they’d be a happy, non-angsty couple from the getgo (imo they’re both too destructive for that) so this turned out super angsty sorry lmao

Ryan’s usually a pretty sensible guy. He prides himself on his technical intellect and his talent for problem-solving, but more than that, he likes to think he’s smart enough to know when to walk away from a situation. He has enough common sense to run from destructive forces.

All of that kind of breaks down where Gavin’s concerned. He’s like a black hole in Ryan’s life - all the rules and logic he’s painstakingly constructed just sort of fail around him. What that translates to most of the time is Ryan feeling like he’s in high school again, not wanting to admit he had a huge crush on the girl he tutored in math (orthe one guy on the football team who wasn’t _totally_ rude to him and smiled at him once or twice in the halls). 

Like his high school self, he lets the object of his affections string him along, taking whatever he can get and thanking God for it. He goes out of his way to make jokes he thinks Gavin would enjoy, teases him on and off camera to draw those (totally ridiculous and not at all arousing, not even sometimes,  _fuck you_ ) noises out of him, and does his best to tear down the ancient king of “ships” in their fanbase, Mavin.

He thinks it’s probably working, or maybe it’s a coincidence because the wedding is near and Gavin can’t spend as much time with his boi so he’s a lot more receptive to messing around with others. Either way, it’s Ryan Gavin’s gone into the  _fucking storage closet_  of all places with, not Michael. The joke initiated by Gavin (which made Ryan think he’d almost certainly caught on and was just fucking with him for the fun of it) had been carried almost too far in the recording, but it certainly wasn’t like worse shit hadn’t been said before.

Usually between Team Nice Dynamite, though. Ryan had done his damndest to move up in Gavin’s ranks, and hey, it kind of totally paid off, because now Gavin’s got one hand in his hair and one gripping his shoulder and they’re sort of making out against the door,  _god_. They’d yet to actually fulfill the task they’d ostensibly come in here for, but Ryan felt like nothing would be straightforward with him. He’d always be wearing a smirk, always pull away like he was now with one hand ghosting across the front of Ryan’s jeans, always set his jaw like he was doing Ryan a favor by not stealing fifteen minutes of Michael’s time instead.

That was the thing, though. Gavin was for all intents and purposes in control of the situation, as Ryan had been reduced to a pathetic teenager mindset, but Ryan knew he was only doing this as a kind of coping mechanism. Michael had given him a chance to speak up a thousand times before – well, everything, but especially before the wedding. And Gavin was too damned afraid of himself to do anything that didn’t involve hushed voices and quick, frenzied encounters that Lindsay at least understood (because she did, she absolutely understood Michael’s predicament and loved him no less for it). So that time passed, Michael was officially a married man, and he’d stopped encouraging Gavin so much because, well, Gavin was kind of a cold, closed-off asshole. (Not that he’d fallen out of love with Gavin; no, Ryan felt to his core the looks Michael still shot him when he thought Gavin wasn’t looking.)

Ryan knew all this, knew how actually broken the man was at this point, and because he cared less for himself than he did for Gavin, he let the Brit use him. It was win-win, if everyone agreed to ignore the impulse for awkward stares and loudly cleared throats the next day.

Gavin’s slipped his hand into Ryan’s jeans (when he unzipped them is a mystery, but Ryan doesn’t fucking care) and started stroking him, albeit agonizingly slow.

“Gav –  _shit,_ Gavin, please,” Ryan says, as loud as he dares (which is louder than it would have been at the old office, because the walls are much thicker here, but still, they’re at work,  _Christ_ ). Gavin chuckles low in his throat and reattaches their lips so Ryan can’t do anything close to begging. Gavin won’t want to hear it, he won’t oblige. He’s doing things at his own pace, and maybe with each moment, each minute thrust of Ryan’s hips up into his hand, Gavin’s healing himself, or at least trying. Filling the cracks in with fool’s gold because although Gavin wears his bravado like a crown, it’s always Michael he’d rather be with.

He does speed up, biting at Ryan’s lower lip hard enough to break the skin, and Ryan lets out a choked-off moan, clutching at Gavin’s shoulders. “God, Gavin, you didn’t even get to see it yet,” Ryan attempts to joke, letting out a breathless laugh as Gavin runs his thumb over the head teasingly. “That was the whole point of coming in here, wasn’t it?”

Gavin pulls back with a lazy grin. “Guess so, Rye-bread. Forgot to turn on the light too. I couldn’t be bothered to wait, you’re so bloody gorgeous,” he murmurs, and Ryan takes the sweet, poisonous words for what they are and drowns in them anyway.

They both strip now, although Gavin keeps his boxers on and stays Ryan’s hand on his own, pulling them down himself instead and going to his knees along with them. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth when Ryan’s cock finally comes free of the fabric, straining against his stomach from the slight attention and scrutiny Gavin’s paid him. “Yeah, it’s bigger. Christ,” Gavin breathes. Ryan doesn’t smile in smug self-satisfaction, but rather in warm, swooning pleasure that Gavin likes what he sees, that Gavin’s finally giving him the time of day. The Brit wraps a hand around Ryan’s shaft again, still gently, testing the waters. He looks up expectantly, but Ryan’s beaten him to the punch with another soft moan and a slight buck of his hips. Gavin seems to be gratified by that, and starts jerking Ryan off properly, getting to his feet again without ever taking him in his mouth, and, whatever. He probably can’t give head anyway, not with his little gagging problem. And he’s kissing Ryan again, deep and slow this time, licking into his mouth like he had all the time in the world to explore it, and so Ryan doesn’t really care.

He’s close embarrassingly fast, and really, usually he has much better stamina than this. Maybe if Gavin decides he wants him again, he can really show him what he’s capable of. Now, he comes with a guttural moan and a short call of Gavin’s name, spilling over his hand and onto his own chest.

Ryan knows Gavin didn’t come – he’s hard in his boxers, but as far as Ryan knows he never touched himself once. Ryan reaches for Gavin, but he’s stopped with one hand. “It’s fine,” he says shortly, as if the words cost him great effort.

“Please, Gavin. Let me help you,” Ryan responds, the plea soft and endearing. Gavin bites his lower lip, the façade dropped for just a moment; suddenly he surges forward and smashes his lips against Ryan’s, and this time it’s like he’s trying to win a fight. He grinds against Ryan desperately, letting out soft noises into the kiss. Ryan slips his hand past Gavin’s waistband and takes him in hand, finding him already soaked with precome. He makes use of that, slicking up his fingers and setting a good pace, making sure to pull back the foreskin and tease the extra-sensitive head every few strokes.

Gavin’s moaning now and Ryan has to muffle it, has to make sure they’re not heard and he has to get him off quicker – they’ve been gone for a while now, right? People might start to suspect, and that’s the last thing Ryan needs (especially if one of those people were Michael). He twists his wrist with every upward motion now, the way he likes to do to himself, and presses Gavin’s back hard against a shelf on the opposite wall, feeling a strange glee at the possibility of Gavin being bruised from this encounter. Soon Gavin’s shaking hard and coming and Ryan strokes him through it, still muffling his sounds with light kisses. He waits until Gavin recovers a little before retrieving the paper towels and passing them to him.

Gavin stares at him for a minute, eyes wide and filled with some incomprehensible emotion – of course, he’s still an enigma to Ryan, even if he just made him come. Then it’s gone, and he’s cleaning up and pulling on his clothes. Ryan does the same, although a fleeting urge comes to him to throw himself at Gavin and beg him not to leave.

He has to stop thinking like a teenager. He has to stop this before it can turn into an actual  _thing._

Gavin’s halfway out the door when he whispers, “Thanks,” and Ryan nods slowly. He stays for a moment, trying not to think about how he could almost taste Michael’s name on Gavin’s lips at the end, trying to figure out why that would bother him, before leaving and shutting the door behind him. 


End file.
